Dear Kate,
by abbyfillion22
Summary: With Castle on a month-long Hampton's Heat book tour, he sends Kate a letter for every day that he's away. Beckett and the boys must hunt down a serial killer notoriously known for cutting off the limbs of his victims. Rated M for smut that will be coming in later chapters
1. Chapter 1

_Dear Kate,_

_I bet you're wondering why I haven't called in four days. Funny story, you'll laugh._

_Once upon a time, I was on the plane on my way to Maine to begin my US book tour for Hampton's Heat and I ate some bad shrimp. One thing leads to another and the next thing I knew, I was rushing for the bathroom. Detective, I'm sure you can figure out where this is going. In my haste, my brand new phone fell out of my jeans pocket and into the toilet. (Remember how I was so excited to get that AT&T upgrade and it literally went down the toilet!)_

_Now, as much as I was looking forward to our Skype dates and phone sex, I wasn't about to stick my hand in that dirty bowl._

_When I got to the hotel, I spent all night trying to guess your number but did you know that with just a seven digit code, there are 823,543 different possibilities? That is why I am sending this message to you via snail mail. See, if you had an email or Facebook, we wouldn't be in this predicament! Curse you and your stubbornness against conforming to the digital era._

_I miss you dearly._

_I can't believe that we're going to be apart for a whole month. I know you wanted to stay in the city for work but I still wish you were here. I promise to write to you every day for the next twenty-seven days I'm gone. It's only a shame that you can't write back since I'll be hotel hopping every few hours. __ I have to get going; gotta go sign some books. I love you._

_Always,_

_Rick_

* * *

Kate runs her fingers over the familiar penmanship, taking special note of the way the capital _R_ encased the tittle of the lowercase _I _in his signature. His handwriting drags together in some places like half cursive and slants forwards in perfect italics. As always, the writing on the left part of the page is darker and thicker, gradually lightening as the letters cross the paper in a calligraphic ombre. Castle's handwriting is just as unique and personal as he is. He's spent years perfecting it; creating a font that's all his own.

She folds the paper up into thirds and slides it back into the torn envelope it came in with the return address for the hotel he's probably already left by now.

As Kate tucks the letter into the top drawer of her desk, she lets out a sigh of relief. Of _course _Castle hadn't forgotten about her these past few days. She had assumed that he had been too busy or had simply blown off their scheduled Skype date the night before.

She kicks her heels off, sending them soaring across the room, and flips her hair to put it into a bun. It was a long day of paperwork at the precinct with no active murder case going on. Without Castle there to bother her, it had been incredibly boring.

As she flops onto her overstuffed couch, she looks around for something to do. It's been a while since she's spent time at her own apartment and by instinct; she goes to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. Kate had spent the first night alone in the Castle loft but quickly found out that it was far too empty without him. She had spent countless hours wandering the empty halls of his home, trying to distract herself from missing him.

Even now, thinking about Castle makes her stomach hurt. Kate doesn't want to miss him as much as she does, but she can't help herself. She didn't realize how hopelessly crazy she is about him until he was gone.

She sighs, scolding herself for being so attached, and goes to run a bath.

* * *

Kate sinks lower into the hot, soapy water until only her eyes and hands remain above the surface. She holds _Heat Wave _precariously over the suds- rereading it for the fourth time-choosing to take this time to pick out the similarities between Rook and Castle.

Red candles scattered around the bathroom flicker off the reflection in the fogged-up windows and illuminate the area in a warm orange glow. Classical music flows from the speakers of the stereo behind her, the notes rising and falling in perfect composition; the violins and violas complimenting each other, harmonizing with the deep hum of the cello and the smart plink of a piano.

She nearly drops the book when her cell phone rings. Reluctantly, she lifts herself out of the tub, shivering in the cold outside air, and towels off before answering, "Beckett."

"Hey, it's me," Ryan says.

Beckett flicks soapy residue from the back of her hand while balancing the iPhone between her shoulder and ear. "Hey, what've we got?"

"South 43rd Street."

"Any info so far?"

"Dr. Parish only said to get there ASAP," Detective Ryan pauses. "Has Castle called yet?" He knows how eagerly Beckett had been waiting for Castle to contact her and was properly pissed off himself on her behalf.

Kate wraps a black silk robe around herself before blowing out the candles and leaving the bathroom to find some clothes. "No. He dropped his phone in the airplane toilet."

"Gross."

"I know."

"Oh, not that," Ryan says, "I'm looking at the crime scene. But, yeah, that's gross too."

"Gory?" Kate shuffles through a wide selection of blouses in her closet.

"Let's just say that it's very Beckett-flavored."

She smiles to herself. "Can't wait."

* * *

"I've never seen you write this much in your life," Paula remarks, looking over his shoulder. Paula Haas has been Rick's book agent for ten years now and she's never seen him work this long consecutively.

Castle writes furiously, hurrying to finish today's letter to Kate on the limo ride to Barnes & Nobel's. He ignores her and quickly scribbles out a spelling error.

"New _Heat_ idea?" Gina asks, tapping away at her Blackberry next to the agent, half listening to the conversation.

He shakes his head and flips the notebook over to start a fresh page.

Paula leans in closer, her boobs pressing into his arm so she can get a clearer view. "Aw, how cute," she drawls with her usual lisp. "He's writing a note to his _girlfriend_."

Annoyed, Castle switches seats, choosing to sit across from the two women.

Paula and Gina exchange smirks as the limo slows to a stop in front of the huge bookstore. Paula reaches across the seat and snatches the notebook from him.

"Showtime, hon," she says, licking her hand and patting down his matted hair. "Oh, sweetie, you look awful."

Castle knows how bad he looks. He couldn't sleep last night because he had become so accustom to lying next to Kate at night, he had forgotten what it was like to be apart from her. He had stayed up, staring at a picture of the two of them that he kept in his wallet. It's a candid shot taken at a New Years Eve party at the Ryan's house. Beckett's looking past the camera and smiling while Castle holds a champagne flute in the air, their arms linked.

It's his favorite picture because neither of them knew it was being taken; capturing them being natural with each other.

Paula tries in vain to tame his brown locks but gives up with an exasperated sigh.

Gina holds open the door and motions for him to get a move on.

Before sliding out, he carefully tucks the leather-bound notebook into his coat. It's cold out, the October air breezier than usual. Dead leaves crunch underfoot and Castle purposefully moves slowly so he can relish in the satisfying crackle with every step.

A small horde of paparazzi await them at the door but he keeps his head low and smiles sheepishly with his hands in his pockets while his ex wife and agent pose. He usually likes these publicity trips but something's changed in him since being with Kate; like some of her humility has rubbed off on him.

After a few minutes, they proceed indoors and a guy in a pine green Barnes & Noble's polo shows them to a table stacked with _Hampton's Heat_ hardcovers. Already, a line stretches out the door of thirty-plus year-old women, men, a few elderly, and a rare teen fan, all of them clutching their new Richard Castle items to be signed.

The line goes nuts when a younger female spots him, screeching, "It's him! It's Richard Castle!" She hops up and down with her equally fanatic friend, snapping pictures on their smartphones.

Castle waves good-naturedly to them before continuing to his chair, Gina and Paula flanking him like groupies.

Gina addresses the crowd. "All right, one at a time, in an orderly fashion…"

Before she can finish, the line surges forwards and a few store clerks have to corral them.

Castle rolls up his sleeves, preparing for a long three hours of autographs, "and your name is?"s, and "thanks for buying my book"s.

A college age guy in an Iron Man shirt steps up first, holding his book at arm's length. "Mr. Castle, such a huge pleasure to meet you," he gushes.

Castle smiles and takes his book, uncapping his Sharpie. "Thank you. Who am I making this out to?"

"Grayson," says the guy.

_**To Grayson, my fellow Marvel fan,**_

_**Rick Castle**_

He snaps the cover shut and hands the book back to him.

Grayson is shoved out of the way by an elderly woman behind him. The next few hours go similarly, shaking hands and accepting compliments.

At lunchtime, they disperse for break.

Paula goes to the coffee kiosk to get refreshments while Castle and Gina head for the bathrooms.

"This tour is so great for the charts," Gina says, distracted by her constantly buzzing cell. "The numbers are through the roof for this month, you wouldn't believe…"

"I'm glad," Castle mutters, nursing his sore wrist. He had signed so many books, his hand has gone into auto-autograph mode.

"And with the Frozen Heat premiere coming up, you're going to be in your prime. Meaning," Gina grabs him by the shoulders as he tries to turn away, "you need to get your game face on."

He rubs his eyes and yawns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Gina sighs, getting his attention again, "you need to focus. Forget about your little girlfriend for just a few more days. Please, Rick, you're not in your mode and the press is noticing."

Castle squints down at her. "What exactly is my "mode"?" He puts quotations around "mode."

Gina reaches into his coat and takes his notebook. "This? Writing love letters to your girlfriend? That's not your mode."

He snatches the book back and begins to turn away. "Well, this is who I am now."

"Is it?" Gina asks. "Or is this all just an act you're putting on for her sake?"

Castle pauses before shutting the bathroom door in her face.

* * *

It's chilly when Beckett steps out of her cruiser, instinctively waiting for the second door slam before clicking the lock button on her keys. When it doesn't come, she remembers that Castle isn't there with her.

She adjusts her maroon wool scarf and buttons up her coat to her neck, her breath freezing in the air like white smoke.

As usual, Detective Beckett takes a minute's pause in the name of the victim she's about to meet before ducking under the police tape.

Ryan and Esposito approach her, shivering in only their NYPD windbreakers and nod hello.

"What've we got?" Beckett asks, pulling on her gloves and targeting in on the numbered yellow tents on the ground.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Esposito exclaims, his arm flying out to stop her. He points upwards.

"Gross," she remarks.

"That's what I said," Ryan adds.

Dr. Parish makes a wide circle around the puddle of blood forming in front of them. She keeps casting weary glances upwards.

The victim hangs above them by the telephone wire; bungee cords are wrapped around his neck, keeping him suspended. But what makes this case Beckett-flavored is not the location, but what the victim lacks: arms and legs.

The poor man's been cut cleanly from the waist down and at the shoulders. If not for the ghastly reds staining his clothes, he would resemble a tackling dummy. The victim's chin falls forwards onto his chest and blood drips from his mouth.

"Do we have an ID?" Beckett asks, shuffling backwards.

"Nope," Lanie shakes her head. "Time of death between 4 and 4:30."

Beckett tears her gaze away from the body. "How long's he been hanging there?"

The ME looks at her notes. "Judging by the indentations made by the cords, I'd say about an hour or less."

"So I'm guessing the COD isn't hanging?" Esposito asks, grimacing at the pavement.

"Sadly, no," Lanie sighs. "I think it would have actually have been easier that way. No, he bled out."

Beckett looks to her left where a middle-aged woman in her pajamas is talking to a uniform, looking highly distressed.

"Neighbor," Ryan informs her, "she called in when she saw the body outside of her window. She doesn't recognize the vic either."

Of course she doesn't, Beckett thinks to herself. It could never be that easy. "How long until we can get an ID?" she asks, turning to Dr. Parish.

Lanie scribbles another note on her clipboard. "Well, considering he has no limbs, I can't get fingerprint ID… I suppose we could do a DNA test but that'll take at least two days."

Beckett nods. "Okay, we'll get an APB out on the vic, see if anyone recognizes him. I'll get uniforms to canvas the area and they'll get him down for you." She addresses the boys. "In the meantime, talk to the other neighbors, see if someone knows him."

Esposito and Ryan salute before taking off in opposite directions.

Beckett pulls on medical gloves before moving in closer under the victim while Lanie goes to speak to the officers. She crouches down at the numbered yellow tents around the scene and carefully examines each one. If the victim had been bleeding before he was hung here, the killer had to have gotten some blood on him.

She searches for a blood trail leading away from the scene but finds none. Just to make sure, she circles the body twice before looking for more clues that Lanie may have missed on her first search. As she does, she tries to tune out the steady drip coming from above.

What kind of killer chops the limbs off of his victim then hangs him from a telephone wire? This case is either personal or the work of a psycho.

If Castle were here, he's spin some kind of elaborate Hitchcock-worthy story about the killer's motives. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't come up with one.

* * *

With no new leads and with the promise of an ID by morning, Beckett sent the team home for some well-deserved sleep.

Not eager to go home to an empty apartment, she stops at the 24 hour convenience store a block from her building and picks up a National Geographic, a pint of Ben & Jerry's, and a six pack to go.

As soon as she gets home though, she loses her appetite and leaves her purchases on the counter to sweat.

Kate crawls into bed without bothering to change; avoiding the indent in the left side of the bed where Castle should be. As she lies awake, she looks across the dark room at the dresser, her gaze lingering on the top right drawer.

His drawer.

Her gut clenches and she curls up on her side, trying to distract herself from thoughts of Rick. An hour later, she gives up and reaches over to her nightstand where her phone is. She slides her thumb across the lock screen and just stares at her wallpaper; a candid photo of the two of them at a New Year's Eve party that Lanie had sent her. He's looking dashing in a black tuxedo and his hair perfectly slicked back. She stands next to him in a gold dress, their arms wrapped around each other. It's her favorite picture but she's never shown it to Castle. It's her own private indulgence to see him every time she makes a call or clicks on a new app.

Looking at him, seeing the tiny wrinkles in the corners of his blue eyes when he smiles, the few stray hairs sticking out behind his ears, the curve of his lips upwards as he raises a glass of champagne in the air, brings warmth and comfort to Kate.

The screen goes dark as she finally slips into a deep sleep.

* * *

Castle lies awake in his hotel room; his bed far too lonely, staring at the same photo that he had out the night before. He wonders if she's thinking about him too.

* * *

**I want to make this a daily fic with a new letter every day but with my hectic school/sports schedule, I doubt I'll be able to handle it. So, if anyone would like to co-write this with me, shoot me a PM and we can arrange something! Anybody else freaking out because season 6 is starting? I know I am! **


	2. Chapter 2

Beckett distractedly dumps a second packet of Sweet N Low in her mug as another yawn escapes her lips. She rubs her tired eyes and groans when black mascara rubs off onto the back of her hand.

Esposito and Ryan enter the break room, discussing last night's basketball game.

"Good morning," says Detective Ryan, pouring himself and his partner a cup.

Beckett yawns again. "Speak for yourself."

Esposito sits on the couch next to her; sinking into the old cushions. "You look terrible," he says, taking in the smudged makeup and dark circles under her eyes.

"Thanks," she replies sarcastically.

Ryan slaps his partner for being so inconsiderate. "Rough night?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she mutters into her coffee while absentmindedly fingering the engagement rings hanging from the chain around her neck. The first ring-the smaller of the two-is her mom's, the second is hers. She puts the silver between her thumb and forefinger and rolls it back and forth so it catches the light. There are five diamonds in total-four small rocks flanking the larger- one for every year she's known Castle before he asked her to marry him.

"He'll be back before you know it," Esposito offers, noticing the rings.

She lets the chain fall back under her shirt; resting directly over her scar. "Did you get the reports back from Lanie?"

"Not yet," says Ryan, handing Espo the coffee. "We should have them soon though."

Captain Gates sticks her head in the door, startling everyone to their feet. "Detectives, we have a call to Central Park. Looks like the same killer as last night's case."

"What?!" Beckett exclaims incredulously, quickly grabbing her jacket from off the table.

The boys exchange wary glances. Everyone knows what a second kill within the same twenty-four hours means.

Gates turns towards the elevator; leaving the detectives scrambling at her heels.

Beckett shrugs her blazer on. "Sir, you don't think-"

"We won't know until there's a third case," Gates says through gritted teeth. She pounds the elevator button and waits impatiently as the doors slide open.

* * *

"Definitely the same killer," Dr. Parish says as the team approaches the scene.

Gates crosses her arms and scowls. "And we still don't have any prints?"

Lanie looks apologetic. "Not prints, no trace DNA, nothing."

Beckett stares up at the body hanging above the street. This time, the victim not only lacks limbs, but also his clothing; making the wounds appear more gruesome.

She looks away and swallows hard. "Our killer knows what he's doing."

Esposito and Ryan begin to question the locals around the scene; trying to identify the vic.

"Time of death?" asks Beckett.

"Between 5 and 6 this morning," says Lanie, "COD, strangulation."

Beckett squints up at the body and sees the bruises on the man's neck. "How long's he been hanging there?"

"Not long," says Ryan, coming back with quotes. "A neighbor says that she went out at 6:30 for a run and she didn't see anything."

Beckett nods. "So, sometime after 7."

"Question everyone on the street," Gates commands. "I can't imagine that the killer did this in broad daylight and no one saw anything."

Beckett looks to the horde of neighbors and nosy commuters corralled behind the barriers like cattle. A few people have their phones out; trying to get a clear shot of the crime scene like it's a Justin Timberlake concert. This annoys Beckett-it's disrespectful towards the victim and the PD- but she knows that there isn't much to do about it besides get the crime under wraps ASAP.

"I'm going to get CSU to send the body over to the morgue," Lanie says, reading her mind. She makes a wide circle around the pool of blood and the yellow tents before going to talk to uniforms.

Gates shakes her head as she retreats from the scene. "I want this done as quietly as possible, Detective."

"Yes, sir."

"Our killer obviously wanted to make a statement and he got it," says the captain, "But we don't need to blow this out of proportion and get the feds involved. This is our case and I want it to stay that way."

"Yes, sir," Beckett says again.

Gates stares at her for a moment longer before leaving to go back to the 12th.

"Hey," Ryan jogs up to her.

"You got something?"

He clicks his pen and flips a page on his notepad. "A neighbor remembers hearing noises next door at around 4 o'clock and then movement outside sometime later."

Beckett's brow furrows. "What kind of noises?"

"Banging."

"Banging? Like, _banging_ banging or actual banging?"

"Actual banging," Ryan clarifies. He points down the narrow street lined with rusty trashcans and steaming grates. "Coming from the third house on the left."

Beckett stands on her tiptoes to get a clear view of the house. Almost every single house in view is the same; like a scene out of A Wrinkle in Time. The town houses are made of brick and have red doors with glass windows. Outside, there are tiny gardens on either side of the stairs that have been meticulously cared for by their owners. Protecting those gardens are five-foot tall iron fences that provide privacy for the first floor tenants. It looks like the last place something like this would happen.

"Oh, and we have an ID," Ryan mentions off-handedly. "Mr. Taylor Shay, age 21; college student. That's his house, there. He lives with three other roommates. It was one of them that IDed them."

Beckett pulled up a photo of last night's victim. "Find out if Mr. Shay knew him."

"On it," Ryan salutes, hurrying off to do her bidding.

As soon as she's left alone, Beckett takes a second look at the scene; making sure nothing was overlooked.

She takes slow, careful strides in a ten-foot radius around the body, her eyes trained on the ground for anything that might point them towards the killer.

Beckett notices that there is one thing that is missing here and was missing at the last case also: a ladder. There's no way that anyone could have gotten both bodies up the telephone poles without the aid of some sort of ladder or crane. And it's not like a killer could have carried a ladder around New York without being spotted which means that in both cases; he ditched it somewhere close by.

Beckett widens her circle and adjusts her viewpoint. She walks over a sewer grate; the echo of her footsteps making loud, deep thuds as she passes back onto the pavement. Ten feet to the left, is another sewer which provides a similar acoustic. Another five feet, Beckett stomps on the metal grate and the sound shifts slightly. She crouches down and pries the grate up, setting it aside. She wipes her dirty palms on her slacks and shines a torch into the darkness.

"I think I found something," she shouts over her shoulder to whoever is listening. A team of uniforms rushes over to help. "Get that to the labs," she says, pointing to the ladder that disappears into the darkness of the sewer. "Have them look for prints and DNA evidence."

The uniforms grimace but don't object as they haul the ladder out.

"What's that?" asks Ryan as he comes back.

"The key to our investigation," she replies. "Did the vic know our vic?"

"Not likely," Ryan shakes his head. "His roommates say that he spent most of his time at the computer."

"Programmer?"

"Fashion blogger."

"I can't imagine a fashion blogger making this kind of enemy," Beckett remarks as the uniforms carefully carry away the ladder for examination. She and Ryan begin to walk back to their cruisers, picking Esposito up along the way. "Did you get anything?" she asks him.

"Besides the distressed girls about what a "sweetheart" Taylor was? Nope," he sighs, rolling his eyes.

Beckett chews her lip. "Girlfriend?"

"The neighbors say that his relationships stayed strictly online," Ryan says.

"Well, if he was online a lot, we should be able to get a lot of info from his computer," says Beckett, unlocking her car. An ambulance breezes by; its lights flashing until the crowd parts and allows it through.

"I already checked," Ryan reminds her. "His drive was wiped."

"Damn it," she mumbles. "Get it to tech and see what they can do anyways. It can't hurt to try." As she says this, her cell rings. "Beckett," she answers.

"Detective, we have another," Captain Gates says.

"Same scenario?"

"Same scenario." Gates gives her the address. "Get your team over there as soon as possible."

"Sir, we're still at the second scene-"

"I don't care," Gates snaps, "I need you at this one."

Beckett hangs up and fills the boys in on the news. "I think we have a serial killer on our hands."

"He sure strikes fast," Esposito whistles as he hurries to his own cruiser.

Beckett scoffs. "Yeah, let's just hope this is all for today."

* * *

The third scene is no different than the first except this victim still has one arm. CSU is running late coming from the other case. Everyone looks more stressed than usual and reasonably so.

"Why would the killer leave one limb?" Esposito asks, his head tilted back as they walk towards the telephone wire.

Beckett searches the victim's face. This time, it's a female suspended above the gravel. Her hair hangs in front of her pale face and her body sways slightly in the wind; her clothes soaked in blood.

"Maybe it's some sort of message," Ryan offers. "The number of limbs missing is a code for how many time they wronged the killer."

"Okay, Castle," Esposito snickers.

"He might not be that far off, actually," Beckett jumps to defend. "Serial killers always plan these things out, it might be a message. What it is, I can only guess."

Officers hurry to set up a perimeter to control the situation.

The rest of the investigation goes similarly to the others and they leave with minimal information. Luckily, Lanie can pull prints from the remaining hand. Otherwise, they'd have another Jane Doe on their hands.

* * *

The sun is setting when they finally make it back to the precinct; their arms full of reports.

Ryan dumps a stack of folders on his desk while Beckett takes up her position in front of the murder board.

Esposito brings two more boards and lines them all in a row; assuming that all three cases are related.

Beckett writes Taylor Shay's name across the first board and tapes his photo up; the one printed out from his webpage. She also is able to write some background information about Taylor under his name including his friends and family, where he was the night before, and contacts.

The other cases are significantly emptier; with question marks where names should be and crime scene pictures only.

She creates a timeline for the murders but can only guess most of the times and locations.

After an hour, Dr. Parish sends up the ID for the third vic and Beckett scrawls Samantha Greenwald over the woman's picture.

Around 9:00, Beckett can't help but yawn. She gets up to make another cup of coffee to keep herself awake but Ryan stops her.

"Why don't you go home?"

She gives him a confused look. "I can't, these cases-"

"Can wait until morning. We barely have anything to work with until we get prints back anyways," Kevin points out.

Beckett yawns again. "The labs have the ladder they're working on-"

"Javi and I can handle it," he assures her, pushing her jacket into her hands and maneuvering her towards the elevator. "Trust us."

"All right," she resigns, knowing that she won't be of any help half-asleep. "But call me when something comes up."

"Get some sleep, girl," Esposito says.

A letter waits on her doorstep.

And a dozen roses.

Kate stoops down and picks up the vase, searching the silky red petals for the card, smiling to herself at her fiancé's thoughtfulness.

**_Thinking about you 24/7_**

She tucks the card into her back pocket and fumbles for her keys; her hands now completely occupied. Once inside, Kate puts the roses on the kitchen counter and sits down at a barstool. She reaches behind her and removes the elastic from her hair; letting her chestnut locks out of its bun and shaking the curls until they frame her face like a thick curtain. She flips it once to get the right side part before sliding a nail under the fold of the letter she's eagerly anticipated all day.

_Dear Kate,_

_How was your day? I hope the boys are taking good care of you in my absence. Tell them I said hi._

_Today, I went to this beautiful old library where they were having the signing. You would have loved it. It was ten times better than the New York Public._

_The ceiling was this huge dome with the most intricate stained-glass design in the shape of a rose. Everything unfolded from the rose; the shelves and furniture arranged in a circular pattern from the rose center. The glass was in the tiniest pieces and each was a different shade of red or dark pink. Here and there, were miniscule pieces of clear glass slivers to break up the pinks that shimmered when the afternoon light crossed it just right. The design prompted me to send you these roses. I know you don't like flowers because you say they're "impractical" but I wanted you to have something as pretty as you._

_Okay, sorry, that was kind of cheesy._

_Anyways, this library had these gorgeous antique bookshelves that were simply stuffed with ancient volumes. A lot of the books were missing covers, tattered, and torn, but it only added to the historic aura of the entire place._

_That's what gave the place character; its oldness. There were dusty velvet couches everywhere with its stuffing hanging out and its cushions saggy._

_The entire place was illuminated in the dim glow of a huge chandelier hanging in the middle of the library and a few fireplaces here and there._

_You know the library in the Harry Potter movies? It was a little like that mixed with the Library of Congress and Indiana Jones's study._

_A lot of people showed up for the signing, but for some reason, they were all so civil and polite there. Perhaps it was the vibe that being in that sort of library gave off._

_Gina and Paula will _not _leave me alone for even one second so I'm writing this, hiding in my bathroom. They probably think I'm constipated or something because I've been in here for twenty minutes._

_Did I mention that you look very pretty today?_

_I miss you so much._

_I miss your smile._

_I miss your laugh._

_I miss your disdainful frown when I do something stupid._

_I miss feeling you next to me when I'm sleeping._

_I miss bringing you coffee in the morning._

_I miss your kiss._

_I miss our handshakes._

_I miss the sound of your voice._

_I miss the smell of your hair._

_I miss finishing your sentences._

_I miss cuddling with you._

_I miss helping you solve murders._

_I miss you._

_If you get too lonely while I'm gone, you have my permission to make out with Esposito._

_I love you._

_Always,_

_Rick_

Kate was hoping that being in contact with Castle would help bridge the distance between them, but it only feels like they're further apart.

She mentally counts the days left until he'll be returning and then recounts, making sure she didn't overestimate. Sadly, she didn't. There's still over three weeks to go without Castle.

Kate tries to think about her life before Castle and what the hell she did in the evenings. She usually read or watched TV or ordered takeout and that was the extent of it. She should start referring to those lonely times as Before Castle or B.C.

She rereads the letter and smirks when she reads "you have my permission to make out with Esposito". She _is _lonely, but doubts that she'll ever be lonely-or horny-enough to want to make out with Espo. Just the thought kind of grosses her out.

* * *

As soon as Beckett had left, Esposito found an envelope addressed to him on his cluttered desk.

"Since when do you get mail?" Ryan says, stirring his noodles around the box with the chopsticks.

"Never." He turns the letter over. It's thin and must only contain a single sheet of paper. "Hey," says Esposito, pointing to Ryan's desk. "You have one too."

Ryan shoves takeout boxes aside and comes up with an identical envelope; no return address.

They both tear into them at the same time and read the exact same message.

_Hey guys,_

_Beckett probably already told you this, but I dropped my cell in the toilet so now I'm kicking it old-school with letters. It's probably been a decade since I've last been to the post office. I almost forgot you had to pay for stamps._

_Anyways, I want you to watch out for Beckett while I'm gone and make sure she's doing okay. I'm going to be away for a while and even though she won't admit it, she's going to miss me. Make sure she doesn't get into trouble._

_And if she gets too lonely, Javi is allowed to make out with her a little bit but that's all. (Remember the bro code.)_

_So there's two favors you guys need to fulfill over the next 26 days: Take care of Beckett, and also water my plants because I forgot about that until just now._

_Thanks, I'm counting on you two._

_-Castle_


	3. Chapter 3

"Goddammit," Beckett grumbles too loudly as soon as she sees the horde of crisp blazers and blue button-downs outside the elevator. The feds turn and stare at her and she feels her cheeks warm. "Sorry. Excuse me."

The agents make a path for her and she can feel their eyes burn into her back as she proceeds down the hall. "Captain, can I have a word?" Beckett asks in front of Gate's closed door.

"Come in," Gates says from within.

Beckett enters to find the captain buried behind a tower of paperwork with her reading glasses on the tip of her nose.

"I-" she starts.

Gates holds a hand up without taking her gaze from the document occupying her immediate attention. "Don't say it. I hate them here as much as you do."

Beckett frowns, her hand still on the doorknob.

"The sooner we wrap up these cases, the faster they'll be gone," Gates sighs. She waves her hand in dismissal. "Get back to work."

Beckett turns to leave the office. "Good talking to you."

As soon as the door shuts again, Ryan and Esposito ambush her. "The feds want you," they say in unison before trudging away, their heads hung.

Beckett can only assume from their grim expressions that the boys had been shut out from the investigation. She takes a deep breath before heading for the conference room where the government agents have converged in front of the case board.

"Detective Beckett," says the head fed, a squat man with a receding hairline and too much cologne, "I'm Agent Steinman, CIA." He sticks his hand out for her to shake but she crosses her arms. His palms look dirty; like he hadn't washed them in months and he smells like greasy hamburger. Something about the way he looks her up and down as if he's appraising an antique makes Beckett's skin crawl.

"Are you taking over my case?" she asks, all too familiar with the drill with serial killers.

Agent Steinman smiles, flashing a set of yellow teeth. "I see you know how this works."

"I do."

"Yes, I'm taking over your case," Steinman smirks. "But you're welcome to sit in." He begins to turn back to the board. "Just don't bring your team."

Beckett looks longingly out the window where Ryan and Esposito are watching from the break room.

"Oh, by the way," he throws in, "there's been two other kills."

Beckett's jaw goes slack. "Same case?"

Steinman nods. "Same case."

She shuffles from one foot to the other, glancing from the boys to the feds. Finally, she pulls out a chair and sits down. "What've we got?"

"No other trace evidence found, no video footage, nothing," says one of the agents across from her.

Beckett scans the murder board that's now too crowded for anyone's liking. "So he's an experienced killer; knows how to avoid us."

Everyone ignores her comment and the person to her left continues. "We ran the evidence through the system, Agent Steinman, none of the listed serial killers are a match to this kind of murder."

"How does he keep slipping right under our noses?" Steinman complains, going back to square one.

"Well," Beckett speaks up, "let's examine what we _do _know instead of focusing on what we don't. We know that the killer lives in the city, within a 100 mile radius of the park. Every single one of his kills have been within that perimeter. He's strong. He had to be to carry those bodies up to the heights he hung them from, right?"

The agents nod.

Beckett stands up next to Steinman and takes the spotlight. "He must have known his victims in some personal way and he likes to cut their limbs off _before _killing them. That takes a psychotic mind." She pauses to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Check with any mental facilities in the city, see if they've had any problems with patients lately. He's experienced and knows how to clean up after himself, so to speak. Maybe he used to work for the police?"

"Or maybe he watches a lot of cop shows," Steinman mutters.

"I'm sorry," Beckett smiles. "This is your case. You can figure this all out yourselves," she says sweetly, moving in the direction of the door. "You know, seeing you had so much information before."

"Wait," Steinman says desperately.

She cocks an eyebrow, sticking one foot out of the room.

The agent sighs. "Bring your team in."

* * *

It was a long day of dead-end leads and no new evidence. The feds were as clueless as always and the day was only made slightly more bearable by the presence of her team.

"You guys can head home, we've got this," Steinman says to the trio of detectives.

Seeing that the case was going nowhere any time soon, Beckett obliged.

"Let's go guys, we can share a cab," she says to Ryan and Esposito who are falling asleep in their chairs.

"Yup, coming," Ryan says, jerking awake. He shakes his partner.

They let out a collective sigh once in the elevator and away from the feds.

"Can you believe this?" Esposito said, rubbing his eyes.

Beckett fixes her hair in the reflection of the doors. "What?"

"How many serial killers are we going to get in this city?" he responds "It's not like it's a common occurrence."

"We get the interesting cases, Javi, that's what makes the job fun," Ryan says.

Beckett checks her watch and finds that it's 1:24 AM. All she wants to do is go home and slip into a nice hot bath while she reads the letter of the day from her fiancé. Her arms falls back down to her side but something clicks in her mind and she raises her dad's watch to her eye level once more. "That's it. That's the connection!"

"What is?" the boys ask.

She jabs the button for the third floor and the elevator begins to rise again.

"What?" Ryan and Espo reiterate.

Beckett says nothing until they're back in the conference room. "It's a clock," she interrupts Steinman.

"Detective Beckett, I'm in the middle of briefing my people-" Steinman says with a doughnut in one hand and a coffee in the other.

Beckett ignores him and moves in front of the murder board. "He's attacking in a clocklike formation." She uncaps a marker and writes the numbers 1-12 in a circle then puts the first kill over 4, the second over 5, the third over 6, and the fourth over 7. "The first murder happened at four o'clock, the second happened at five, and so forth," she explains. "The numbers not only show what time the murders occurred, but _where_."

The agents stare at the diagram with blank expressions.

Beckett rolls her eyes. "The center of the clock is the park and every location happened around it in a clockwise fashion. So, we can predict what time the next hit will happen and the general location."

Agent Steinman tilts his head at the clock drawing.

"So the next one will happen at 8 o'clock, southwest from the park at approximately 8," says Beckett, drawing a circle around the 8.

Steinman's brow furrows as he stares at the board.

Beckett waits for his response, anxious to get to work with the new information. With the clock lead, it's as if so many key pieces have fallen perfectly into place.

"It's just a coincidence," Steinman says finally.

"A coincidence, yes," his agents echo.

Beckett looks to her boys for backup who are standing directly outside the conference room. They shrug, powerless against the feds.

"Sir," Beckett gripes, "there's too much evidence to be a coincidence. Three cases of this occurring, possibly, but five? That's no coincidence, that's what we like to call a _lead_," she derides.

Steinman chuckles and the other agents follow in suit as if playing a game of Follow the Leader.

Ryan and Esposito shuffle uncomfortably, feeling sorry for Beckett and the situation she's been thrust into because of her higher rank at the precinct.

"All right, Detective," the agent says with a smile, "you go ahead with your clock theory, sweetheart, and we'll work on actually finding _evidence_. Because what you have is what _we _in the real world like to call a _theory_," he throws back.

Everyone in the conference room laughs along with Steinman.

Beckett grits her teeth and has to restrain herself from punching Steinman in the throat. "Fine," she says calmly, "I will." She turns on her heel and saunters out of the room with her head held high. "Let's go, guys," she says to the boys who are staring at her in admiration. "We're going to solve this ourselves."

* * *

Beckett carefully tapes the blown-up map of Manhattan on the murder board and puts a large circle in the middle of Central Park. Then, she writes a 6 where the third hit occurred and counts the number of grid blocks between the scene and Central Park. A half an hour later, she's finished plotting every murder case and calculated the distances between them.

As expected, there is exactly the same amount of miles between each and she had narrowed down the location of the next hit to a three-mile radius.

"We need to get unis on alert in this area," Beckett tells Ryan.

"On it," he replies, already making the call.

As soon as she takes a second to sit down, her cell phone buzzes in her back pocket. "Beckett," she answers, expecting news from the morgue.

"Hey, gorgeous," Castle greets.

"Castle!" Kate nearly squeals after hearing her fiance's voice for the first time in what feels like forever. She takes a moment to compose herself by clearing her throat. "What's up?" she says coolly, standing up and hurrying to the break room out of the earshot of Esposito and Ryan.

"Guess who finally made it to the AT&T store," he says rhetorically.

Kate paces the floor excitedly. "Let me guess, you got the new iPhone 5s?"

"What else?" he replies. "How's the case going, I saw you have a serial killer on your hands."

Kate had gotten so caught up in the sound of Rick's voice that she had momentarily forgotten all about the Clockwise Killer, the name Ryan had dubbed the murderer minutes earlier. "Okay, the feds are all jackasses."

"Of course they are. Do you have any good leads?"

Beckett explains her clock theory to him and how Steinman is continuing to insist on searching for evidence that just isn't there.

"Wow, that's sounds like something I would bring to the table," says Castle.

"I know," Beckett admits, "I think you've rubbed off some of your crazy on me."

There's silence on the other end of the line for a minute. "You mentioned your killer cuts off the limbs of his victims?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Don't you think it has to do with the puzzle?"

"I haven't found any connection… yet," she adds.

"Well, I'm sure you'll find it," says Castle, "So how is future Mrs. Castle doing without me?"

She smiles and her heart flutters at the mention of her soon to be last name. "I miss you."

He lowers his voice. "I know. I miss you too."

Kate stares at the floor and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she studies the pattern on the tile.

"I haven't been able to sleep without you next to me," he admits.

"Yeah, me neither."

Castle waits, suddenly feeling like they're a million miles apart.

"I loved the letters. And the flowers," Kate says, breaking the silence.

"You did?" he asks, surprised.

"I did," she nods. "They were so sweet. I guess you don't need to send letters now that you have a phone again."

"Well, if you like them so much, I can keep sending them," he offers. "And then we can have our Skype dates too, just like we planned."

Kate pulls at a loose thread on her jacket. "Sounds like fun, babe." She imagines him lounging in an exquisite hotel room with his phone pressed between his shoulder and ear, a glass of wine in one hand. She longs to be with him, to feel his gentle touch on the back of her neck as he pulls her in for a long kiss; wishes for the smell of his aftershave tickling her nose as she rakes her fingers through his dark hair.

"I should get back to work," she says quietly.

"Yeah. I'll…" he trails off, "Call me when you get the case wrapped up, okay?"

"Okay," Kate agrees. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."

* * *

"The CIA is shutting down your case."

"What?!" Beckett shouts, staring at her captain with disbelief. "They can't do that, who the hell do they think they are?"

"The CIA?" Ryan offers.

Esposito sighs and throws his folder into the trash.

Gates' face contorts in anger. "They don't want another case interfering with theirs."

"It's the same damn case!" Beckett shouts, pointing to her murder board.

"They don't think so," says Gates more to Beckett than anyone. "They want you out, Detective."

"Sir, they have _nothing_," she argues, "and they're too stubborn to take the lead that they do have."

"That's their choice," Gates shrugs. "I want all of you to go home and gets some sleep. I expect to see you back here in the morning."

"It is morning," Ryan points out. "It's 8:00, we've been working on this all night."

"Then I expect to see you back here tomorrow morning," says Gates, "I'll get a team to cover your shift." She points to the elevator. "Go. I don't want you all sticking your noses in their investigation and getting me in trouble."

They reluctantly gather their jackets and head for the elevator.

"I can't believe this," Beckett gripes once in the lift.

"I hate the feds," Esposito adds.

Ryan nods and fixes his hair in the reflection of the gold doors. "Ditto."

Beckett rubs her tired eyes. "You didn't hate me when I was one."

They snort. "That's what you think," they say in unison.

Beckett thinks about coming back with some sort of snarky comment but decides that she's too tired.

She finds the letter wedged between the door and the frame along with a State Farm bill and a coupon for Dominos.

_Dear Kate,_

_Guess who finally made it to AT&T? I'll give you a call later from my brand new shiny iPhone. I know you'll probably be busy with your whole federal case and all so I won't keep you up with the details of my day. Here's the quick summary: I signed a lot of books, got yelled at by Gina and Paula for being distracted, and ordered an ice cream sundae at midnight because I couldn't fall asleep._

_I'm guessing you've had a long (probably awful) day with the feds so I hope this letter can brighten your spirits a little._

_You should have seen the sunset last night from my window. You would have loved the colors. The sky farthest from the horizon was a navy blue that slowly lightened to a royal shade and then to the deepest purple and lavender. The purples next to the blue looked like when you first drop the two watercolors next to each other and they begin to swirl together. Purple turned immediately to white but it wasn't a normal white. It's like the white of the snow that isn't a pure color; but has mixes of the sky's reflection in it. After white came the most brilliant shade of magenta that turned to sherbert and then light mango. The area touching the horizon was a dark pumpkin orange. I so wish you could have seen it. It reminded me of the sunset the last day we spent in the Hamptons together. Do you remember that?_

We were lying on that plaid blanket on my front lawn, staring at the sky and listening to the waves crash onto the shore.

You had your fingers laced in mine and the breeze kept blowing your hair into my ear. You said you were cold so I moved closer to you. I kept glancing at you out of the corner of my eye because I couldn't believe you were there with me.

The sky was on fire; the white clouds suddenly gold under reds, yellows, and oranges. The colors rippled off the surface of the water and flashes of white bounced off the curls of the waves. We didn't notice how dark it was getting but we stayed where we were; looking at the stars that were never visible from the city.

Trees and bushes rustled in the breeze but other than that, it was silent. It felt like we were the only people in the world.

You moved closer to me until we were shoulder to shoulder and brought our hands up to your chin. You raised your other arm to the sky and pointed out every single one of the constellations to me by name and told me their stories.

I stared because I was so amazed with you. I was amazed at how smart you were, how pretty you were, and that I could call you my girlfriend.

"Have you ever seen something so incredible?" you asked about the stars.

I turned on my side and tilted your chin towards me so I was looking into your eyes when I said, "Everyday."

You smiled and then kissed me.

_Do you remember that day? It's one of my favorite memories._

_I love you._

_Always,_

_-Rick_

* * *

She pulls out her phone and dials the number she has memorized.

"Hey, Mrs. Castle," he answers. "Did you get my letter?"

"I remember. It's my favorite too."

* * *

**Author's Note: thanks for being patient, subscribers! I fractured my tibia so I'll have plenty of time to write while I'm recovering. I suppose it's a blessing in disguise. I'll keep telling myself that :/**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to those of you who sent me their blessings! You people are too sweet :) This chapter's rated M**

* * *

The room is too bright to sleep. She paces her apartment aimlessly; clad in only one of Castle's long dress shirts that barely covers her thighs with a glass of wine in hand.

As she searches for something to do, Kate wonders what housewives do all day without jobs to occupy their time. She tries to read, but finds that she's not comprehending the words. She turns on the TV to watch Kathie Lee and Hoda get hammered on the Today Show but realizes that she's only staring blankly at the screen without hearing; her thoughts invested in the case that's quickly going cold.

She feels so empty without her work and without Castle.

Castle.

Rick Castle.

Rick Castle, the famous writer.

Rick Castle, her fiancé.

How did that happen?

**Hey, you busy? **She texts him.

He responds immediately. **Nope, just at my hotel.**

**I'm bored. Want to have some fun?**

**Always. **he replies.

**What are you wearing?**

**Ooh, so we're playing this game now, are we? Boxers ;)**

Kate smiles to herself, her lower lip trapped between her teeth. She saunters into her bedroom and settles against the headboard. **Take them off** ;)

**Done. What about you?**

She only hesitates for a second before snapping a picture of her impossibly long legs in his button-down.

He replies a minute later. **Mmm sexy. What do you have on under that?**

**Nothing ;)**

**Damn. **he sends.

Kate stares at the screen, her thumbs hovering above the keyboard. She quickly taps his contact and waits as it rings.

"You really aren't wearing anything under that?" Castle answers.

She fingers the button securing the stiff fabric over her chest. "Really," she says, her voice low and seductive. "Are you in bed?"

There's shuffling on the other end. "I am now. Are you naked yet?"

She sets the phone on the nightstand and pulls the shirt over her head. "I am now."

"Send me a picture."

Under normal circumstances, Kate Beckett would never agree to sexting. But this is her fiancé and she trusts him with a dirty picture or two. She takes a selfie and sends it.

There's a pause he examines the photo, his eyes absorbing every pixilated curve and dip on her thin body.

"Now imagine me kissing you," Kate whispers, slipping further down the bed. "My tongue slips past your lips and grazes your teeth before meeting yours; hot and slippery."

Castle shuts his eyes and imagines her in the bed next to him, her mouth against his. "I'm kissing you back, my hands roaming over your body," he speaks slowly; his words intoxicating and she drinks up ever single syllable. "I can't get enough of you. I keep pulling you closer and closer but it's still not enough. I'm kissing your neck and you throw your head back, arching into me. I leave a trail of kisses down your collarbone and I'm sucking at your warm flesh."

She moans, picturing him on top of her; doing all those things do her exactly as he described. "That feels amazing."

"One of my hands is cradling the back of your head; trapped in a tangle of brown curls. The other is grazing down your shoulder, one finger tracing up and down your arm before crossing to your chest," he says.

Kate shudders. "My hands are in your hair, raking lines across your scalp as I tug you closer."

Castle clutches the phone tighter, his knuckles turning white. "I taste your skin; salty with sweat. My palm cups your boob, a thumb rolls over a nipple."

"Yeah?" she urges, her own hand reaching up to perform the action described. She teases herself; tugging on the sensitive flesh. "Oh, God, Castle," she groans, pinching her nipple hard.

His imagination takes off; picturing her naked in bed, getting off on only his words. The mere thought turns him on.

She swallows hard. "Are you touching yourself?"

"Now I am."

"I'm stroking you and you're becoming hard in my palm."

"As if I wasn't already before," he teases, massaging himself and imagining that it's her hand that's doing this to him.

"You can't breathe because I'm rubbing you so hard," she whispers.

"But you have to stop because I've pinned your hands above your head," Castle counters. "And you let me. My hand is between your legs now, slowly making its way up the inside of your thigh."

Kate's legs spread automatically, her fingers touching the hot skin where she's wet.

"I take my time," says Castle, taking pleasure in hearing her breathing become louder. "My thumb slides over your clit and I rub slow circles, building up your anticipation."

She does this to herself and her breath catches in her throat. She lets out a cry as he continues his monologue.

"I put one finger inside you first, then two," he says. "You writhe around my hand, your lower lip pulled between your teeth to keep from screaming."

She puts two fingers inside herself and rotates her hips to get a better angle. "Oh, God, keep talking."

He loves the sexy sounds she's making through the phone. "You're soaking wet around my hand and I flick my thumb over your clit. Your hips jerk up off the bed but I hold you down."

"Castle," she moans.

He can tell by the tone of her voice that she's close. He grips himself harder, rubbing up and down; completely transfixed by her low groans. "One last touch sends you over the edge," he breathes.

"Fuck, Castle!" she cries as the waves of pleasure course through her entire body.

The sound of her orgasm does it for him. He says her name over and over along with a few expletives; oblivious to how loud he's being.

Kate collapses on the bed, her legs splayed on top of the sheets and numb. She relaxes and listens to him breathing; catching his breath to recover from his own climax. Kate turns on her side and cradles the phone against her ear. "That was fun."

"Yeah," he agrees, still slightly winded. His head falls back against the soft pillows and he pulls the sheets up over his chest. "Just what I needed."

She burrows under the warm covers and they switch over to Skype. "God, you're so pretty," she smiles at him.

"Isn't that my line?" Castle laughs. He winces as he turns on his side. "I can't feel my legs. You're that good and you're a thousand miles away. Kate Beckett, you've got some mad skill."

Her face falls. "Legs," she mutters.

"What?"

"That's it, that's the connection!" she says, the key to the Clockwise Killer finally clicking into place. She throws the blankets aside and hurries to the bathroom, turning the shower on before going into her closet to find clothes.

"Wait!" Castle shouts, abandoned on the nightstand and left to stare at the ceiling. "At least take me with you!"

Kate hurries to her phone and carries it into the shower with her. She props it on the shelf between the shampoo and conditioner. "Happy?"

Castle settles down again. "Yup."

* * *

"The number of limbs left on the victim indicates how many days there are between each kill. The first two had no limbs and they happened on the same day. The third had one limb and the fourth happened a day later," Beckett explains in hushed tones to the boys. "The fourth had none and the fifth had-"

"Two," Esposito finishes. "So it will still be another day before the next strike."

"It's just speculation though," Beckett sighs. "so the feds won't go with it."

"We have patrols on alert in that area and now we know exactly when it will happen," Ryan offers. "If we can predict the kills, we can prevent them from happening."

"Yeah, but it's not like they happen on the street," Esposito points out. "It's always happened in private and then the corpse is dragged and hung out to dry. Literally."

Gates walks into the break room where they were meeting in private away from the disapproving glares of the government agents. "Good day, detectives."

They nod and act nonchalant.

The captain pours herself a cup of coffee and drinks it black. "I assume you've found a new case to occupy yourselves with?"

"No sir," Beckett speaks up, being the unofficial leader of the team. "It's been quiet. Well, except for the five murders we have on our hands that we're not allowed to look into."

"Detective, don't give me that crap," Gates says with a slight shake of the head. "You and I both know that you're not going to stop looking into this until it's solved. Just get it done and don't let me hear about it."

Beckett is taken aback by Gate's willingness to bend the rules. "Yes, sir," is all she says, not looking to make a scene.

Gates nods and exits the room.

Beckett takes their coffee cups from them and tosses them in the garbage. "Let's go on a stakeout."

* * *

At 7:55, she's alone in her cruiser with a sharp eye trained on her assigned block. "Everyone in position?" she radios the team.

"Copy," Ryan responds.

"Yeah, we're here, girl," says Esposito. "We got men on the next few streets. All in check."

Beckett puts down the radio and picks up her binoculars. Five minutes pass then ten and still no activity. She begins to wonder if her whole clock theory was all a coincidence after all.

Then, she spots movement three houses away from her spot. She sits up straight and squints into the darkness. "Guys, do you see that?" she radios.

The figure is tall but skinny and walks with a strange gait. They wouldn't take a second look at him if he wasn't dragging a bag behind him.

A body-sized bag.

"Everyone on him, now!" Beckett commands before jumping out of the car and strapping on her vest.

Immediately, a group of uniforms converges on the stranger with their guns at the ready.

"Police, freeze!" they shout.

"Get on the ground!" Beckett instructs the terrified looking man.

He puts his hands in the air and slowly gets to his knees.

The bag is taken from him and handed to Beckett who pauses before opening it.

She swears and throws the bag onto the curb. They just blew their cover to confiscate a big bag of trash.

Beckett walks back to her car with her head hung. She had been so sure that this was the place to find their killer.

She stumbles back when she catches sight of the cruiser. The sixth body hangs above the car from the telephone pole but this time, all four limbs are intact.

Ryan and Esposito run up to her side.

"Damn," they whistle in shock.

Beckett sighs and calls for a CSU team. "I'm afraid this just got slightly more complicated."


	5. Chapter 5

Beckett taps the eraser of her pencil against the corner of the desk as she stares blankly at the floor. Not only had there been a sixth murder, but the killer had slipped right under their noses in a matter of seconds and now he knew they knew his MO. She had just lost her only advantage in this entire damn thing and now she's back at square one.

Steinman walks past with a cup of coffee and grins smugly at her. "How's your clock theory going for you, Katniss?"

She refuses to meet his eye. Technically, she now has proof that her "theory" was accurate. The only problem is that the killer is sure to change his pattern now that they know.

"Look sweetheart, if you want to come back and work on the case with us, I think I can manage to squeeze you in on the team," Steinman sighs like it's one big sacrifice and he doesn't secretly want her expertise. He drums his fingernails against the blue ceramic NYPD mug as if mocking her.

"No thank you," she smiles kindly. "I think I'll stick with my own team on this one."

Steinman laughs. "With your attitude, you would make a good fed."

Beckett shuffles through her inbox just as something to do. "I did. But then I found out how corrupt it was and I… left." She doesn't bother to mention she was actually fired.

"You?" Steinman says incredulously, putting a hand dramatically over his heart. "A government agent?!"

"The Attorney General to be specific, not that it matters. You're all the same," she grumbles.

"Ah, that's where you're wrong, detective," Steinman says with a raised eyebrow. "We are not all the same. Half of us have morals and the other half doesn't."

"Which category do you fall under?"

"Touche."

"Yo, Beckett," Ryan says, powerwalking into the bull pen. "We got a bre-" he trails off upon seeing Steinman in Beckett's company.

"Yes?" the agent prompts.

"We got a break," Ryan says reluctantly. He hands her a manila folder. "Security footage from the camera down the street from where your car was parked."

Steinman takes the envelope before Beckett can. The photos are blurry and dark and the only thing they can see is a dark figure fleeing the scene with his face covered by a hood.

"Useless," Steinman grumbles, handing them over to Beckett.

She takes a second look at them and at first glance, they do seem useless. But Beckett has never been one to give up so easily so she sits down at her desk to examine them.

"You should really learn to slow down and take time to look at what you have," Beckett ventures.

Steinman sits down in Castle's chair and watches her. "No one has time for that. We need thing fast and we need them now."

"See, that's the problem with you people." She holds a magnifying glass up to the stills. "We can get a ton of information from this; you don't need to run it through any high tech machine either. Look," she points to the figure. "He leans really hard into his left leg, so maybe he has some sort of injury or handicap. Based off of frame of reference, he's about 5'10". Take a look at the shoe. That's a no name sneaker so he doesn't have a ton of money. From his posture, I say he has a job that requires a lot of sitting-"

"Or he just has a bad back."

She ignores the comment and gives him the file. "Here. This isn't my case, remember?" Beckett kicks her chair back and walks out of the precinct.

* * *

Her hours are seriously screwing up her sleeping schedule. She lies in bed staring up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come or even for her eyes to become heavy. The sun is still relatively high in the afternoon sky and it's too bright in the room.

Kate rolls over and pulls today's letter out of the nightstand drawer where it's tucked safely under her gun.

_Hey there Kate,_

_What's it like in New York City?_

_I'm a thousand miles away_

_But girl tonight you look so pretty_

_Yes you do_

_Time Square can't shine as bright as you_

_I swear it's true_

_Hey there Kate,_

_Don't you worry about the distance_

_I'm right there if you get lonely_

_Give this letter another read_

_Close your eyes_

_Read in my voice it's my disguise_

_I'm by your side_

_Oh it's what you do to me_

_Oh it's what you do to me_

_Oh it's what you do to me_

_Oh it's what you do to me_

_What you do to me_

_Hey there Kate,_

_I've got so much left to say,_

_If every simple book I wrote you_

_Would take your breath away_

_I'd write it all,_

_Even more in love with me you'd fall_

_We'd have it all._

_Oh it's what you do to me_

_Oh it's what you do to me_

_Oh it's what you do to me_

_Oh it's what you do to me_

_A thousand miles seems pretty far,_

_But they've got planes and trains and cars_

_I'd walk to you if I had no other way,_

_Our friends would all make fun of us _

_And we'll just laugh along because we know_

_That none of them have felt this way,_

_Kate I can promise you_

_That by the time we get through_

_The world will never ever be the same_

_And you're to blame_

_Hey there Kate,_

_You be good and don't you miss me_

_Two more weeks and I'll be done with this tour_

_And you'll be making history like you do_

_You know it's all because of you_

_We can do whatever we want to_

_Hey there Kate here's to you_

_This one's for you._

_I love you._

_Always,_

_-Rick_

She doesn't know what makes her smile more: that Castle can quote the Plain White Ts or that the song fits so perfectly. She reads it over and over again; eventually buying the original song on iTunes and blasting it from the speakers of her phone as she goes into the kitchen.

Her go-to when bored: food. She stands in front of her fridge and looks for something she can cook. Thanks to Castle, she now has real food in her refrigerator and not just takeout.

"Thai cannot be good for your digestive system," he had said, "all those oils and fats… I don't understand how you're so skinny with your diet."

At this thought, she gets out milk and eggs before moving to the cabinets. She sets out flour, sugar, baking powder, and vanilla. She's prepared to make a gigantic batch of cookies for Castle's homecoming-Hey There, Delilah playing on loop on the stereo-when her phone rings.

Her hands covered in flour, she uses her elbow to hit ACCEPT. "Beckett," she answers loudly.

"Sup, girl?" Esposito says. "What are you up to?"

"Baking," she stirs the batter with a wooden spoon and stirs in chocolate chips.

"Baking?" he laughs. "Since when does Kate Beckett _bake_?"

"Just for that, you don't get any cookies," she retorts, wiping her hands on a dishcloth before picking up her cell from the counter. "Was there something you wanted?"

"You better wrap up the cookie dough because Gates is sending us on patrol."

She sighs. "Seriously? She's putting us on traffic? What did we do?"

"She says and I quote: 'You people have been doing a whole lot of sitting around and with no active murder case going on, I say you go on and earn your paychecks.'."

Kate gets out the plastic wrap and covers the batter bowl. "Well then we might as well go to 9 o'clock."

"You mean the serial case?" asks Esposito. "I thought we were done with that."

She throws the bowl into the fridge and slams the door. "Let's just make sure our killer doesn't keep at his usual pattern."


	6. Chapter 6

Ryan and Esposito hold their coffee cups close to their mouths, blowing on the steaming surface of the dark liquid. Beckett chugs hers down; the scalding beverage burning on its way down and simmering in the pit of her stomach all for the sake of staying awake.

The street in front of them is quiet and dark, only illuminated by a few street lamps which cast an eerie glow about the area. As Beckett squints into the darkness, a squirrel scampers across the hood of the cruiser, its claws scraping against the old paintjob. Her gaze follows it as the furry creature crosses the street with an acorn in its mouth and climbs the nearest telephone post. It stops at the top of the pole, hesitates, then proceeds with grace across the wire.

"Ugh, it's so cold," Esposito complains, warming his hands under his armpits. "I hate autumn."

Beckett puts her coffee into the cupholder. "Maybe if you dressed properly, you wouldn't be so cold," she gestures to his short-sleeve tshirt. "It's sweater weather."

Espo scoffs. "Yeah, like I'd be caught dead in a _sweater_." As if the very idea of wearing layers was preposterous.

"Hey," Ryan says from the back seat, dressed in a JCrew sweater his wife picked out for him.

Javi shrugs unapologetically. "So," he says with a smile, "how's Castle?"

She quirks an eyebrow. "…fine?"

"Just fine?" Ryan chimes in, exchanging a knowing look with his partner.

Kate wonders what Castle told them. "Why? What did he tell you?"

"Nothing," Ryan grins. There's a pause as he retrieves something from his bag. "Only to give you this." He tosses a black velvet box into her lap.

Kate tries to hide her excitement as she opens the Jared box and finds a pair of stunning diamond and rose gold earrings. She admires the perfect cut of the stone, knowing that they must have cost an arm and a leg.

"Nice, huh?" says Esposito.

She snaps the lid closed and tucks it safely in her coat pocket. "Yeah, really nice," she says nonchalantly, secretly freaking out inside. "Where did you get them?"

"Castle gave them to us before he left," Ryan says proudly. "Sorry, it used to be wrapped but Curious George over there," he points to Javi, "was dying to know what was inside."

"Sorry," Javi says.

"Speaking of which," says Kate, "Castle said he put you guys in charge of watering his plants."

"Ohhh, yeahhhh," says Ryan. "He's going to come home to some dead plants."

"Sorry," Javi says again.

Kate sits up straighter in her seat. "Speaking of dead," she points straight ahead where a dark figure is dragging a trash bag out to the curb. The dashboard clock reads 9:10 PM. "Who takes out the trash at this hour?" she mutters as she loads her gun and gets out of the car, ignoring the boy's protests to stay put.

"Excuse me, sir?" she calls out once she's a few feet away from the shadowy figure.

The man straightens up, the large bag at his side.

"NYPD," Beckett flashes her badge. "Mind if I take a look at your bag there?"

"Do you have a warrant?" says the man, his voice gruff.

"I don't need a-"

Beckett blinks and the man is sprinting down the sidewalk, the bag abandoned. Knowing that someone doesn't run unless they're hiding something, she takes off after him, waving at Esposito and Ryan to bring the car around.

The perp is fast, but so is Beckett. It doesn't take long for her to catch up. The wind whips around her, stinging her already numb face, making it harder to breathe as she chases down her suspect.

There's a screech of tires as Esposito accelerates past her and swerves in front of the runner; blocking his path. The man hesitates for a second, debating whether he should vault the hood or go around, long enough for Beckett to dive and tackle him to the ground.

"Nice hit, Becks!" Esposito cheers from behind the wheel.

Beckett plants a knee in the guy's back as she cuffs him. She slips a hand into his back pocket for his wallet and gets his name from his license. "John Smith?" she says skeptically. "That's your real name?"

The guy grunts, his face smothered against the pavement.

She hands the wallet to Esposito who takes a look. "John Smith?" he laughs. "sounds like the world's least creative alias."

Beckett drags "John Smith" to his feet.

"Yo, Beckett," says Esposito, his cell out, "I left Ryan behind to get the bag and guess what he found."

"A body?"

"Yup," Javi nods, sending a steely glare in John Smith's direction. "Looks like we caught the Clockwise Killer."

* * *

Beckett and her team have the delightful pleasure of walking the killer through the precinct in cuffs. Steinman and his team even make the effort to come out of the conference room to watch them pass; giving approving nods.

"Sit tight," Beckett tells Smith after closing the caged door of his cell with a loud and finite clang. "You aren't going anywhere any time soon." She turns to go but then stops. "You know, I have to ask. If you knew that we knew your kill pattern, why continue it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, lady," Smith says with a sigh. He leans against the wall and shuts his eyes.

Beckett nods. "Okay then."

"Sir?" she says outside of the captain's door.

Gates invites her in and offers her coffee which she politely declines. "I heard you caught the killer. What are the boys around here calling him? The Clock Killer?"

"The Clockwise Killer, yes," she says.

Gates leans back in her chair and places her reading glasses on top of her head. "That's quite a coincidence, finding him like that. You know, while you were supposed to be on traffic patrol." She says it half accusingly but with a hint of pride.

"Oh, we were on traffic," Beckett assures her, "we were just… patrolling the area that needed it the most."

"I see," Gates nods. "And what about the body you found? Any ID?"

"No, sir."

The captain sighs and rubs her temples in frustration. "Get Smith in the box ASAP. I want to know who those victims are. Their families deserve to know."

"I agree sir," Beckett says, standing up from her chair, "I'll get on that right away."

* * *

"Look, Smith," Beckett says calmly, pacing in front of the table. "Tell us who those other people are and I'll put in a good word with the DA."

Smith laughs, his potbelly bouncing. His black sweatshirt is dirty and stained with what Beckett hopes to be ketchup. "Who cares, I'm getting the needle anyways."

"So you admit to those other murders?" Beckett says quickly.

Smith recedes. "I never said that."

"Who's the person in the garbage bag you were taking to the curb?"

Silence.

"Did you kill her?"

"Yes."

Beckett frowns. "But not these people?" she slides out photos of the previous victims.

"No."

Beckett doesn't know what to think. Smith is so hard to read. She finds him creepy in an unremorseful murderer type of way but also because of how in control he is. A serial killer wouldn't be acting like Smith is, certainly not one with the psyche of the Clockwise Killer. It would be a hell of a coincidence to accidentally run into a random murderer at the 9:00 area and in the correct time frame.

She has him sign the confession for the one kill before sending him back into holding but that's all. To make matters worse, Lanie sent the ME reports up from the morgue saying that she found fingerprints on the victim's body.

"And why's that a bad thing?" Ryan asks when seeing her disappointed look.

Beckett closes the file and drops it on her desk on her way to the conference room. "Because it means that he can't be the killer. The murderer we're looking for is way too careful to leave prints." She gestures to the crowded murder board. "I mean, you saw how meticulous he was with the other kills, he's too smart to slip up this badly."

"But the evidence-" Ryan protests. He was sincerely looking forward to the wrap-up of this serial case.

"Fuck the evidence if nothing else fits," Beckett gripes.

"Whoa," Steinman says, sneaking up on them from behind.

Beckett groans internally. This night is just getting worse and worse.

"Who's fucking evidence?" Steinman asks with a smug smile. He had just gotten the news that his hunt was still on.

"Was there something you wanted?" Ryan asks, stepping protectively in front of Beckett.

Steinman looks past Ryan and holds up an evidence file. "We caught a break. I thought maybe you'd like to see."

Beckett, being the stubborn and proud person she is, dearly wanted to say she didn't want to see the file, but it could be circumstantial evidence. "About time," she says instead, reaching for the file.

Steinman jerks the file out of her reach. "Say please."

Ryan snatches the papers from him and hands them to Beckett.

The envelope is filled with traffic cam photos of the same dark figure fleeing the crime scenes. Just based off of these, they can all tell that "John Smith" isn't the person from the photos. The person from the photos is tall and skinny while Smith is short and could stand to lose a hundred pounds or so. Unless Smith suddenly consumed the entire Hostess factory in between the time the pictures were taken and now, he's not their killer.

The last five snapshots are close-ups that have been enhanced so the pixels are huge. The person's face is masked by a black scarf and wayfarer sunglasses.

"So what?" asks Ryan, examining the pictures over Beckett's shoulder. "That shows nothing."

"Ah, I beg to differ," says Steinman, taking one of the pictures and holding it up to his chest. "See that?" he taps the corner of the man's sunglasses with his thumb where there's a short silver line.

"No," Ryan says.

Beckett looks closer. "The Ray Ban logo?"

"And not just any Ray Bans," Steinman says, pulling a printout ad from the Ray Ban website. "These glasses aren't available for purchase yet. They were given out as a prize a week ago in a random online drawing." The advertisement is an announcement of the conclusion of the contest. "There was a survey you had to fill out and your name would be chosen from a pool of millions. Only ten people won these new glasses and guess who's got a winner's list?"

Beckett stares at the picture, trying to figure out what's so special about the new Ray Bans besides the white trim inside. "Just give us the list, Steinman."

"Ha. Like I'm going to do that," Steinman laughs. "Oh, or did you forget that your team _isn't_ on this case?"

Ryan glances warily at Beckett who looks likes she's ready to scratch Steinman's eyes out. "So you just came here to dangle the carrot?"

"I have no idea what that means, but sure," Steinman says giddily, practically skipping back to the conference room where his people are no doubt sitting around eating doughnuts. "Oh, and don't forget, it would be a federal offense to look into this case. I.e. keep your noses out."

"I hate him," says Beckett.

Steinman pokes his head out of conference room A. "I heard that."

"You were meant to."

* * *

"That bastard!" Castle remarks.

"I know!"

"He actually said that to you?"

"He did," Beckett nods, "I wanted to rip his face off and pin it to my murder board."

"I bet you did," Castle laughs.

Beckett stabs a piece of steak angrily with her fork. The white candles next to her wineglass are burning low; the wax dripping onto the tablecloth and cooling in a small brown puddle. Her phone is propped up against the flower vase a foot away from her plate as she and Castle enjoy their first Skype dinner date.

Castle sits alone in his hotel room with the lights dimmed and a white candle next to him to promote the illusion that they're sitting in the same room together. He even took a sheet off of the bed to act as a tablecloth and ordered room service steak.

People in the restaurant keep casting Kate strange looks. From far away, the phone is invisible and it appears as if she's a crazy lady eating dinner alone and talking to herself. Kate doesn't care. She's enjoying the face time with Castle too much to care what her fellow diners think.

"At least you caught a killer," Castle points out.

"Yeah," she laughs. "One we weren't looking for."

"See, you're that good. You find killers even when you're not looking." Castle pokes at the scoop of mashed potatoes next to his meat that looks like milky gelatin.

Kate's hair is tied back in a low bun at the nape of her neck to show off her new earrings. She wears a strapless black satin dress that had turned quite a few heads as she entered the restaurant and, of course, a thigh holster concealing her gun.

"Thank you again for the present," she says.

"I'm glad you like them," Castle replies, admiring how the rose gold makes her eyes look greener. "Alexis helped me pick them out."

"Did she?" Kate asks, surprised.

"She said that rose gold would look good with your skin tone, whatever that means."

She smiles and pushes her fingernail into the pool of wax. "How's the tour going?"

"Oh, same old, same old," Castle sighs.

"That bad?"

"Gina is driving me crazy, Kate," he whines. "She and Paula both. They keep saying, 'Oh, Rick, you're just no fun anymore' and making fun of me for writing you letters."

"Why do they say you aren't fun anymore?" she asks.

Castle shrugs. "I don't know. They think I'm whipped. But the thing is, being whipped isn't such a bad thing. I like who I am now."

"And that's all that matters," Kate points out. "Besides, I think your letters are endearing. I liked the last one."

He perks up. "I know, how clever was that?"

"Very."

The waiter comes by with her check and to refill her glass.

"I wish I could pay but…" Castle pretends to try to reach out. "It's too far away."

"It's okay, I've got it," she says. As she's sliding her Visa into the folder, she pauses. "it's too far away…" she mutters, handing the bill to the waiter.

"What?" Castle asks, pulling his phone closer.

"Castle, I think you just solved the case!" she says excitedly. "The Clockwise Killer has an accomplice!"

"What? Who? How do you know?"

The waiter comes back with her card and she quickly gathers her coat and purse. "I have to get to the precinct." Before picking up the phone, she kisses her hand and presses it to the camera. "Love you. You're brilliant."

"Bye. Love you too," he says before the Skype feed cuts out. "Look for my letter."

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long to post this, I've been busy being lazy. Check out some of my Castle fan art on Society6 and Wanelo. Find me on Society6 at: abbyGREY22steinour, search CASTLE. Or on Wanelo: abs12steinour. If you have any funny/meaningful Castle quotes you would like to see sold on Society6, send me a PM with the quote and episode number.**


	7. Chapter 7

"There's no way he could have been there, it was too far away," Beckett tries to explain to the roomful of skeptical government agents.

Steinman shakes his head. "What part of, you're off this case did you not understand?"

Beckett scowls. "Do you want this killer off the streets or not?"

Steinman shrugs nonchalantly as if it doesn't concern him either way.

"Think about it," Beckett says, marking off the points on her list, "Our killer can't be setting up these elaborate crime scenes so quickly and so precisely by himself. First of all, hanging those victims from that height requires a ladder. Setting up that ladder means putting the victim down. Putting the profusely bleeding victim down would leave trace DNA, which we found none of besides right under the hanging point. I ask you, why."

Steinman and his agents exchange glances. "Maybe he was extremely neat."

Beckett rolls her eyes, tired of these people who deny every single lead they receive. "Secondly, how did the killer carry the victim up the ladder on his own and _then_ hang him or her with one free hand? You saw those knots, they require _both_ hands. How did the killer hold on to the victim?"

"She has a point," one of the agents whispers to the other.

"Hey, did I ask you?!" Steinman spits at him. "Shut up."

"Sir," another agent chimes up, "it's a valid lead, you have to admit."

Steinman, clearly outnumbered, concedes. "I'll admit," he says reluctantly, with an expression of extreme pain, "we questioned an accomplice."

_Sure you did,_ thinks Beckett.

"But we're just as close at finding an accomplice as we are getting the actual killer," Steinman concludes.

"That's the thing," Beckett says proudly, "I know who the accomplice is."

This takes Steinman by surprise. "Care to share?"

"He was just released from holding this morning," says Beckett, crossing her arms and nodding in the direction of the cells.

"Smith?" Steinman scoffs incredulously. "He alibied out, if you don't remember."

Beckett stifles a laugh. "Yeah, well that's one of the perks of having two people involved in a murder. While one's being interrogated by the police, the other is out on the town. Or while one is out developing an alibi, the other is hanging his victim."

Steinman nods. "All right, have your people pick him up."

Beckett's eyebrows rise. "So you're putting us on the case?"

Agent Steinman purses his lips. "It's not like you were ever off it."

She hurries from the room to find the boys.

* * *

"This is it," says Beckett excitedly, "I can feel it."

Esposito parks the car in front of Smith's apartment and kills the engine. "And how did you know it was Smith?"

Beckett climbs out of the cruiser and goes to the trunk to get the vests. "I don't."

He and Ryan give her questioning looks.

"Then… we don't have probable cause or a warrant?" Ryan asks.

As they stand there, snow flurries fall onto their shoulders like dandruff, clinging to their eyelashes so the world looks shiny.

"We'll have one once we find those sunglasses," explains Beckett, checking her holster.

Ryan blows hot air into his hands and rubs them together before putting on his vest. "Don't you think he would have ditched those by now?"

"Highly unlikely," Beckett replies, "I looked into it and since those glasses won't be on sale until Christmas, a preorder is worth close to a million."

"Damn," Espo whistles. "I'll stick with my no-name shades."

Once they were all properly armored and armed, Beckett leads the way into the shady apartment building, flashing her badge to the person at the front desk.

As they approach apartment A47, Beckett slows to muffle the sounds of their footsteps. The carpet is old and stained with something she hopes was old lemonade. The wallpaper lining the hallway is peeling and contains various large holes, the typical building in NYC.

As usual, Beckett stands right in front of the door with the boys flanking it. She nods to Espo who pounds on the door with the curve of his fist.

"John Smith, NYPD!"

Waiting a beat with no response, Esposito kicks the door in and they file inside, their guns and torches sweeping the area.

Seeing no immediate threat, Beckett instructs them to search the place for the glasses.

They tear the place apart looking for them, but came up empty.

"Damn," Beckett muttered. "They _have_ to be here."

"But you said-" Ryan begins.

"HEY!" someone shouts. "What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?"

They all whirl around to see John Smith, a bag of groceries under one arm, his face red from the cold.

They all show their badges.

"You got a warrant?" asks Smith, setting his bag down on the floor.

Beckett hesitated and that brief moment was all Smith needed to make a break for it. "Go!" she shouted to Ryan, shoving him towards the door. "You take the south stairs and cover the east side, I'll take west."

"Got it," Ryan says, pounding down the hallway.

"I'll go down the fire escape," Esposito yells after her.

Smith is fast, but so is Beckett, who spends a fraction of her free time on the treadmill. He barely makes it to the street when the three detectives surround him from all sides, their guns pointed.

"Get on your knees," Beckett barks.

Smith puts his hands behind his head and slowly gets to the ground.

She nods to Ryan who holsters his gun to search the perp. He feels inside his pockets, drops keys and phone onto the asphalt and then hovers inside his jacket before extracting a pair of white-lined Ray Ban wayfarers. He grins.

"Looks like we've got him," says Beckett.

* * *

Beckett prowls in front of the table that Smith sits at, his wrists handcuffed behind his back. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as she paces, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Smith watches her, his face impassive.

"I'm going to ask you one last time," says Beckett, pausing in front of him. "Who is your partner?"

Silence.

"How many of those victims were yours?"

Silence.

She tries again. "Why did you confess to that last murder?"

He smirks.

"To hide your accomplice?" asks Beckett, going through the list of possible reasons. "Is he blackmailing you into helping him?"

"I confessed," Smith says confidently. "Because it was only one murder and I had an alibi for it."

"So you had more than one," Beckett says more as a statement than a question. She knew the answer.

Smith tilts his head to the side. "I never said that."

Beckett sighs and takes the seat across from him, fingering the small black microphone facing her killer. "So what _are _you confessing to?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon Smith, we've been playing this match for too long," Beckett says impatiently. "tell me who your partner is."

Smith tosses his head to the side to wipe the greasy hair from his forehead. "What _do _you have on me, Detective?" he whispers. "A pair of sunglasses?"

Finally holding the upper hand, Beckett smiles. "Not just any pair of sunglasses," she says, pulling out the plastic bag containing the rare wayfarers. "Unreleased Ray Bans, only owned by ten people in the _entire_ world. Eight of those people live out of the country, the other in Arizona."

Smith's jaw tightens. "You know how those companies work, the CEOs give out freebees to their friends and family and they get around."

"So who do you know that works for Ray Ban?"

Smith bares his teeth and Beckett gets a glimpse of some strangely sharp canines. "My uncle."

"That's a lie," Beckett says, "you have no family, we checked. What else can I catch you lying about, Smith before you end this little game?"

He sniffs to buy himself a millisecond of time to think. "Detective, the term 'uncle' doesn't always mean they're you're relative. I call my old man's best friend my uncle because he practically was."

"And what's this uncle's name?" Beckett challenges, calling his bluff.

"Albert Jones."

Beckett smirks and stands up again, circling Smith like a shark. She takes some time to plot out her plan of attack that will earn her a checkmate. "You know that when people lie about names, they always automatically come up with one that starts with A?"

Smith frowns.

"It's something to do with your thinking patterns. It's always an A name: Abigail, Andrew, Aiden, Albert." She waits. "You want to know what else we found out about you?"

"You've got nothing."

"I beg to differ," Beckett replies. From under the desk, she retrieves a second evidence bag containing a receipt. "A few days ago, you made a purchase at Home Depot for a ladder."

"So?"

"So where's the ladder, Smith?"

"In storage."

"Yeah," says Beckett. "_Our_ storage. CSU recovered it hidden at an early crime scene; same make and model as the one that you bought. I bet you were planning on returning later to find it if not for our officers."

"That doesn't mean it's _my _ladder. Did you scan the barcode?" says Smith, sweat accumulating under his lip. His leg bounces nervously.

"Unfortunately, you had the smarts to remove the sticker," Beckett says with false disappointment. "But we checked your storage unit and you know what we didn't find? A ladder."

Smith grinds his teeth together.

Beckett taps her finger on top of the microphone. "You're done, Smith. Do you want to go out fighting us the entire way or do you want to help us out and rat out the guy who gave us the last piece of evidence to convict you?"

Smith battled internally with these options. "All right. I'll tell you his name."

Beckett glances at the mirror behind which the boys sit observing. She takes a seat and waits.

"John Smith."

"His name's John Smith too? You obviously lack creativity when it comes to fake names," Beckett chides.

"You want his info or not?"

"I do, sorry. Please continue," she says, pushing the mic forwards. "Where does he live?"

"I don't know."

"What does he look like?"

"White, brown hair, brown eyes, kind of a small mouth…"

"Anything distinguishing?" Beckett asks. Smith's description fits half of Manhattan.

Smith thinks about it. "He has a mole on his temple right here," he shows her on his own face.

Beckett takes note of this. "Does he have an accent?"

"Yeah, Jersey."

"Did he ever tell you anything about himself?" asks Beckett. She goes to the door in response to a knock and accepts the confession papers from Ryan. Sliding them across the table, Smith signs them willingly. "Think you can describe him to our sketch artist?"

Backed into a corner with the knowledge of betrayal from his accomplice, he agrees.

* * *

An hour later, Beckett is able to hang a very generic sketch of the Clockwise Killer on the murder board and has an APB sent out.

The boys insist that she go home to get sleep with the promise to call her if anything turns up.

She lets herself into Castle's loft which is closer to the precinct than her own, wanting to fall asleep with the smell of him in the sheets that surround her. Even when she turns on the lights, it's still oddly dim, hauntingly silent. Leaving her heels and jacket next to the door with the pressure of the folded up letter in the back pocket of her jeans, she goes into the kitchen.

The small plant decorating the island is wilted, brown and pathetic. She gives it water but knows that it's no use.

The same goes for the vase of flowers on the nightstand next to the bed. Kate lightly brushes the magenta petals and the delicate leaf snaps from its stem, floating to the floor. She sighs and goes into the closet, stripping out of her restraining work clothes on the way, and selects one of Castle's shirts to sleep in.

Not bothering with a shower, she crawls under the champagne-colored covers, burrows deep into the silky sheets, and inhales the familiar scent. In the lamplight, she finally has time to read today's letter.

_Dear Kate,_

_I saw the cutest little puppy dog today. He was this tiny red-coated golden retriever named Albert, no bigger than a foot. I passed the litter on the street on my way to lunch. Albert was in this little cardboard box, sitting on a nest of towels, lonely, but happy as could be. His tail wouldn't stop wagging and his tongue was dry from hanging out in the open for so long. It made me think that we should get a dog. You know, like a practice baby. I know we take care of the house plants together but getting a puppy would be different, a step up in responsibility._

Kate glances at the dead flower next to her.

_What do you think? You could take it on morning runs with you and it could be like a guard dog. We could name it Norman. I like those weird human names._

_Anyways, I found this book of poems at the place I was signing at and I found this poem. It's by someone named Scarlet._

I found it  
the thing I've been searching for  
searching for for so long  
I found the lost ray of light  
in this state total darkness  
I can't remember  
ever seeing the light  
I lost it all so long ago  
when I was bruised and broken  
I lost my trust  
I lost my hope for happiness  
I lost everything  
but now I found something  
someone  
and I find myself walking toward the light  
the light I didn't know I had  
I'm walking  
away from the darkness  
away from the pain  
I feel happy  
I don't remember ever feeling happy  
I think  
to myself is this real?  
Or is it a just cruel joke?  
If it's a joke I don't think I will survive  
the downfall  
I tell myself it is real  
I just have to try to trust  
I have to break down my walls  
the walls I put up  
to block the pain  
to feel safe  
but they left me trapped  
and all alone  
for they blocked out the happiness with the pain  
and surprise surprise  
just as I start to wonder how to break the walks down  
they start to crumble around me  
freeing me  
telling me to trust  
so I try it  
I try to trust  
and its not as hard as I thought  
I've never trusted someone  
so soon  
so quickly  
is that a good thing?  
Or am I setting myself up tp me broken and busied all over again  
if I become broken and bruised again  
I don't think I can heal  
but I want to try  
I want to fight  
fight the urge to build my walls back up  
as they say there is no joy without pain  
I just hope the pain is in the past  
and the future is filled with joy.

_I don't like poetry normally but this one was all right. It tells a story, y'know? I have to go, Gina scheduled me for a press conference. Call me later, I want to hear all about your day. I love you._

_Always,_

_-Rick_

Kate smiles and folds the letter into thirds, sliding it back into its torn envelope with the return address to a Marriott in Washington. She places it under the vase at her bedside, just under the limp flowers.

She's in that stage of half sleep when her cell phone rings. _No_, she groans internally, turning over. She answers anyways although she desperately wants to sleep. "Beckett," she says hoarsely.

"Sorry to wake you," Ryan says.

"I wasn't sleeping," she lies, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, leaving the warmth of the covers to get dressed. "Sleeping's overrated."

"Yeah, okay," Ryan replies. "Traffic patrol called, they think they've found our killer. We'll pick you up in 10."


End file.
